


The End of Days

by annabeth_in_olympus



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Percy Angst, Post-Tartarus (Percy Jackson), percabeth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_in_olympus/pseuds/annabeth_in_olympus
Summary: Percy tries to adjust back to normal life. It turns out, sometimes the calm is louder than the storm.Told from multiple POVS. Multi-chapter.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 166
Kudos: 667





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after HoO, around senior year, but I may be treating the "canon" timeline and events loosely (especially as the timeline is confusing in all the series, anyway). So, please allow me the liberty of possibly ignoring certain events or tweaking things to my preference.

The glow of the TV light was the first thing Paul noticed from the kitchen. He’d come out for water, even though the clock read 3:16am. The TV was so low it was almost muted, a basketball game—not live, obviously. Something old.

Percy was crashed out along the couch, mostly in darkness, but the flickering images on the screen brightened to show that he wasn’t asleep. Whether or not he’d heard Paul come in, he showed no indication. 

Paul hesitated a long moment. And then another. This wasn’t the first time he or Sally had noticed Percy up in the middle of the night. It would’ve been one thing if he’d been finishing a school paper, talking on the phone, or even sneaking out. That was normal stuff, stuff from Paul’s teenage days.

But Percy’s life was something unfamiliar. When he’d first come into Paul’s life, there’d been something different there. Not just the usual delinquency and getting into trouble, but deeper. Like there were pieces that Paul was missing, and might never know. So when the entire truth came out, it had felt more like a puzzle finally fitting together than anything else.

And then Percy had been gone for months and returned and he was quieter and more serious and had seemed to age an incongruous amount in an unlikely span of time. He’d given them a very brief summary of what had happened, but had obviously withheld about 90%, and Paul wouldn’t have known what to ask, anyway.

In the daytime, things were mostly normal. He was usually at school or out with friends, anyway. Nights were different. More and more, there would be a light on under his door, or they’d hear his footsteps in the early hours of the morning. Paul had heard Sally try to bring it up with him, and had heard him brush her off. 

Now, Paul stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Percy passively watch the screen. “Pretty late,” he said finally, voice quiet. 

Percy barely moved; his eyes flicked to Paul before going back to the TV. “Yeah.” 

It was a tricky position, being a stepparent. Especially to a teenager—especially _this_ teenager. 

It resulted in a delicate balance; technically Paul was the adult, but he had sensed a mile off that the second he started to throw around a role of authority, he would lose any hope of having a chance with Percy. And, by extension, with Sally. 

She had made it crystal clear from the start. _I have a kid. A boy. A_ teenage _boy. His father’s not around, and he’s been through it. I don’t think he’s going to like you._

And more—that Percy was her world. That she’d put him through hell with a different stepdad. That he got into trouble a lot, but he was an amazing, good-hearted kid. And that they needed to take things slow, because—it was clear—Percy came first. 

And Paul had been game. He had nodded and then talked about the high schoolers he’d worked with, all the different needs he learned to meet, all the different backgrounds his students came from. “The thing about teenagers,” he’d mused, “is that we all fail them. We expect them to act like adults, and yet we treat them like kids. Very seldom do we just…listen.” 

And so that was the role he tried to take on. A backseat to Sally, someone who was there if needed. It wasn’t always simple, but there were no guidebooks for this. 

The TV ran through a commercial, then another. Paul tried once more. “School tomorrow.” 

“Uh huh.” Percy’s gaze didn’t waver. 

“Anything you want to talk about?” 

Percy’s eyes moved to Paul’s. “No.” 

His voice was resolute, the subject closed. Percy went back to the screen. 

Paul considered for a long moment; he could hear Sally softly turning over in bed, sighing in her sleep. His alarm would sound in just a couple of hours. He scratched his neck, listening to the refrigerator hum to life. And then he went and sat down in the plaid armchair by the couch, settling in to watch the re-run of the game in silence.  
.  
.  
.  
“Do you know where Percy is?” Sally set down her bag, looking tired. “It’d be nice to know if he’ll be here for dinner.” 

Paul looked up from grading papers. “Out with some friends. He didn’t say when he’d be back.” 

Sally sighed. “I wish he’d actually use that cell phone we got him. But there’s only so much we can do.” 

The evening passed as they both worked and made dinner and then ate dinner. As Paul was wiping down the counters, the phone rang. 

“Hello, sweetheart…” He heard Sally say from across the room. “Oh, no…I actually thought he might be with you?” 

Paul heard the familiar undernote of worry in Sally’s voice; a faint strain, but present. He finished with the counters as the conversation ended. “Well, he’s been out for a few hours, now…would you have him call me, if you see him? Thank you, sweetheart, have a good evening.” 

Sally saw Paul’s questioning eyebrow. “Annabeth.” She sat at the table and took out her research books. “I suppose he’s out with other friends. I just—” A line appeared between her brows. “I wish I knew when it was normal teenage stuff, and when it was…Greek stuff.” 

Paul easily translated this: _I wish I knew when to worry._

He stood behind Sally and squeezed her shoulders. “It’s early still, and all teenagers stay out late. All teenagers worry their mothers. It doesn’t mean it’s like last time.” 

Sally closed her eyes, putting her hand on top of his and breathing deeply. “It isn’t getting any easier, you know?” 

Paul kissed her hair. “I know. I’m not sure it was ever meant to be.” 

She squeezed his hand, and the evening passed.  
.  
.  
.  
It was 1:04am when the front door creaked slowly open, and the shuffling of someone coming in could be heard. 

Paul had been in a light sleep, Sally sitting up beside him, reading by dim lamplight. Now he had one eye open as Sally eased out of bed and out into the main room, leaving the door partway open. 

“…was seriously concerned, I didn’t know whether something had happened…” Their voices filtered through, quiet enough that he couldn’t catch it all. “Well, you need to call me if you’re going to…yes, I realize that, but…” 

Percy’s answering voice was low; all that came through was, “…clearing my head, not that big a deal…” 

“…asked her to tell you to call…” 

“I wasn’t with her, so…” 

Their voices went on, but the words were hard to make out. Finally there were more footsteps, and the faint thud of a door closing. Sally did not return to bed. 

At last, Paul got up and put on a robe. He found Sally on the couch, her head in her hands. 

He sat wordlessly beside her, rubbing her back. After a minute he asked, “anything bad?” 

She shook her head. “Nothing dangerous. At least that’s what he said. He looked okay. Just…unhappy.” 

They sat there for a long time. When finally Paul suggested returning to bed, it was like Sally didn’t hear him. She took a deep breath. “He apologized for staying out, but—that’s not what matters. He—he’s not—” She swallowed, staring at the wall. “Okay. Yes. Let’s go to bed.” 

“Sally.” 

She stood, rubbing her arms. “I’ll try to talk to him again tomorrow. Nothing is going to get solved tonight.” 

And so, somewhat reluctantly, he followed her back to bed.  
.  
.  
.  
But the next day was just as fruitless, as were the days following. Though Percy was thoughtful and present in some ways—unloading the dishwasher, asking about their work—and at times seemed upbeat, even normal, there was always something else there. An edge. A wall that kept appearing, wherein he became stolid and indifferent, deflecting questions. 

Certain words floated through Paul’s mind, but he never voiced them. Words like _war,_ like _trauma,_ like _ptsd,_ and _grief,_ and _healing,_ and _time._ But he didn’t know what he was talking about. Percy had a foot in a separate world. Paul had never known violence or death or suffering, not really. At a much older age, he couldn’t relate, and he didn’t know what had, and hadn’t, happened. 

And so he continued to make dinner, and to grade papers, and to watch the evening news. He went on walks with Sally in central park, to plays and readings and lectures. And he paid attention. And he was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be from Percy's POV. While this story may have a serious-ish tone, there will be more lighthearted moments, too. And you'll be seeing other characters. 
> 
> Please, please tell me what you think, and if you're interested in this. Sometimes it's hard to know! Thanks for reading <3


	2. Chapter 2

“What’s with the sticky-note?” 

Annabeth leaned forward from her perch on the counter, looking at the fridge. 

_Remember you are BRAVER than you believe  
STRONGER than you seem  
SMARTER than you think  
and LOVED more than you know._

Percy rolled his eyes. “My mom wrote it. She’s not so into subtlety these days.” 

Annabeth laughed. “I think it’s nice.” 

“It’s from Winnie the Pooh.” 

“Wow. Even better.” 

Percy put the frozen pizza in the oven. “She thinks I’m struggling.” 

“Ah.” 

“I mean, seriously. They’ve really been…hovering, lately. They don’t usually hover.” 

When Annabeth was silent, he looked at her. “What?” 

“Well. It’s nice. I know it’s annoying, but they really care.” 

He shrugged, looking away. “I guess.” 

Annabeth played with a strand of hair, biting the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “They don’t know all that much, right?” 

“No. Just a broad rundown.” 

She nodded, looking strangely relieved. 

He came and stood in front of her, twining his index fingers through her hair. It looked smooth, but it was always tangled. It was getting out of hand, almost wild, reaching her elbows. She needed a haircut, but also he loved it this way. 

He was close enough to smell her strawberry gum. She grinned. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“Congrats on passing your math test.” 

“Why do you always want to talk about math?” 

“Oh? Always?” 

He tugged lightly on her hair. The afternoon sunlight was lighting her up, making her golden. He was so close he couldn’t see all of her face at once, just the individual shapes of her freckles. 

The toe of her shoe prodded the back of his leg, and her eyes flicked to his lips. “What do you wanna talk about?” 

And then the front door opened noisily; Percy grinned, rueful, and Annabeth just shook her head. He stayed there for half a second too long, and then swung back to the stove just in time. 

“Annabeth!” Sally put down her groceries and keys. “It’s nice to see you.” She pretended not to notice as Annabeth nimbly slid off the counter.  
“What are you making—pizza again? Oh, I wish you two would eat real food…” 

Percy ticked off his fingers. “Wheat, dairy, tomatoes…”

Annabeth shrugged, biting her lip. “Makes sense to me.” 

“Oh, you two.” Sally sighed as she went into the living area and opened her laptop. 

They ended up wandering into Percy’s room, leaving the door open. Annabeth dropped down on his unmade bed, crisscrossing her legs. She picked up a nearby copy of sports illustrated. 

Percy sat on his desk chair, lacing his hands behind his head and releasing a deep exhale. 

She glanced at him. “Have you been sleeping better?” 

He rubbed his eye. “Not really.” 

She flipped through the magazine, making a face of distaste at a page. He rolled the chair back and forth. “What about you?” 

“Kind of. Now that everything with school’s happened, and it’s just done with, I kind of am. I mean, what can I do? It feels good to be back at camp. I sleep better there than I ever did in that dorm.” 

There was a moment of silence, and he realized she was looking at him. “You should come back for a weekend. It might help.” 

He shrugged, looking away from her. “Maybe.” 

“Even just to be in your cabin, or to talk to Chiron—” 

Percy stared at a spot on the wall. “I don’t think that’s what I need.” 

She watched him for a long second, and then let it go. 

They were interrupted by a knock on the doorjamb. Sally stood in the doorway. “Pizza’s ready.” 

Annabeth bounded gracefully from Percy’s bed, as if it were suddenly contaminated. “Thank you!” 

She slipped out into the hall. Sally lingered a moment, a certain look on her face as she looked at the room, then at Percy. 

“What?” 

“Feeling very secure, aren’t we, having your girlfriend over when your room’s like this?” 

Percy looked around his room, only now noticing the mess. He shrugged, unfazed. “She’s seen a lot worse.” 

Sally raised an eyebrow. “Mmhmm. I’m just saying. Some would put in a little effort.” 

Percy slid past her, miming taking notes. 

She ruffled his hair, shaking her head. 

Eventually they decided to go out; that was what they did, this year. It never mattered where they went. New York was like a backyard to them, and it always offered something. 

Before they left, Percy made a small effort to clean up the kitchen. Paul was home by now, working at the table in the living area. Annabeth had wandered that way, making small talk with Sally. 

They discussed her new book for a while, and then he heard Sally ask, “And how’s school going? I know it’s not easy to do all that catch up.” 

There was a pause. Percy shook his head, putting away a kitchen knife. There was no graceful way to do it. He would know. 

“I—uh, actually I got—” The briefest of pauses. She cleared her throat—

“Expelled.” 

Annabeth said it as only a demigod could; a little reluctant, but lacking decent shame. 

There was a surprised silence. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry to hear that!” Sally sounded confused. “When did that happen?” 

“Oh—a couple weeks ago. It’s fine. I already got my GED.” 

“A couple—weeks ago? I had no idea.” 

“Sorry, I figured Percy told you.” Annabeth sounded preoccupied. “It’s fine, though. I’m still going to college. And I’m super busy with my internship, and the Olympus remodel. I’m up there, like, all the time.” 

“But—where are you living?” 

“Oh, camp. And I have a friend who graduated last year, so I stay at her place in the city, sometimes.” 

“Okay…” Sally came up and put her hand on Annabeth’s forehead, as if she were sick. “If you tell me you’re okay…” She shook her head. “Why’d they kick out a brilliant girl like you, anyhow?” 

“Oh…” Annabeth twirled a piece of hair. 

Percy waited. 

“Well, attendance stuff, to begin with. And then—uh, mouthing off to teachers.” Annabeth squinted. “Being ‘impertinent.’ Generally disrespecting a renowned institution.” She thought. “There was also some stuff where I started a walk-out because of our history lesson.” 

There was _also_ the time they’d caught her sneaking Percy out the window of her dorm… 

Annabeth sighed. “But mostly arguing—sorry—” she made air quotes. “‘Mouthing off.’” 

“Wow.” Sally carried a stack of books to the shelves. “Well. As long as you’re keeping busy, then.” 

Percy went to the doorway and put on his jacket. Annabeth shook her head. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell them.” 

Percy shrugged. “Why? They still thought you were a good girl.” 

He wasn’t sure if they’d heard, but he saw Sally and Paul exchange a look as they slipped out the door. 

“Is your mom going to think less of me now?” Annabeth sounded pensive as they left the building. 

Percy rolled his eyes. “I’m sure she already knew you were an insolent kid with behavior issues. I mean, deep down.” 

Annabeth hit him; he dodged her, then wrapped an arm around her and she burrowed into his side, sighing as they walked into the glittering city night.  
.  
.  
.  
“I mean, it just sucks, you know?” Annabeth bit off the end of her licorice rope. “They’re such whiny babies. I’m trying to accommodate all of their ‘desires,’ but they just keep one-upping each other.” 

It was later that same night. She looked up from the low wall where she sat; Percy was chucking rocks into the river, and didn’t answer. 

She studied him for a minute. “Hey.” She kicked her foot at him, though he was out of reach. “What’s up?” 

Percy was silent for another minute. Finally he glanced over. “I just wish my sixth grade self could hear you calling the gods ‘whiny babies.’” 

She rolled her eyes, but bit back a smile. “Yeah, well. I’ve seen some stuff.” 

Percy looked out over the dark water, throwing another rock. “Yeah,” he agreed under his breath. 

Annabeth kept up a flow of complaints about the gods, the problems with her internship, and the long commute from camp. Percy kept pitching rocks, half-listening, and then made them reverse course back into his hand. It was good to be able to control something. 

His mind began to wander, which was a dangerous thing. 

Nights were different from daytime. During the day, he was busy. There was school, and homework, and the extracurriculars he was supposed to do. There were classmates and friends and Annabeth. There were chores and errands for his mom and, basically, distractions everywhere. It wasn’t always easy, but it was better. 

But when the sun went down, and everyone went to bed, and it was time for his mind to shut off—that was when it all went south. That was when his mind came most alive. 

His sleep was fitful and dark. A grotesque mosaic of dead friends and dead enemies twisted in and out; he would wake in a feverish sweat, sick to his core. Or he wouldn’t sleep at all; getting anywhere close meant a deadened mind, open to anything that wanted in. And more than that—than the fevered reminders that marched through—was the blank, hollow cavern that opened in his chest. It was like a cold, dead fog that glided into him, every evening, like twisted clockwork. It just made him—empty. 

He looked over at Annabeth. “Hey, do you—” 

He stopped, turning back to the water, something sharp in his throat. 

“What?” She had her chin in hand, her eyes hard to read. 

He looked at her for a long moment. The streetlamps were shining on her long hair, making her curls glow a dark gold, like she was sparking light. There was a hole in the knee of her jeans, showing a bruise on her skin. Her lips were stained red from the candy. 

“Nothing.” He said quietly. He sat down beside her on the low wall, so they were facing each other, her feet up in front of her. He hooked his hand around her knee, rubbing his thumb slowly, carefully, on her bare skin. He felt goosebumps erupt there. Then he pulled her forward, closer, and saw her swallow, looking at his jaw. Finally he pushed her hair back, behind her ear, looking at the light shining on her temple, her throat, the tiniest of scars under her chin. 

There was a question in her eyes, one that was too deep to ask—one she’d been skirting, in her own way, not just that night, but for days and months now. 

And so he kissed her, squeezing her knee tighter and tangling his other hand in her beautiful hair. She tasted like red licorice and sweet, dizzying hope. He remembered all the times he’d wanted to kiss her and couldn’t. All the years they’d spent making each other crazy. 

Her mouth opened under his and he pretty much forgot where he was, which was the best thing to happen to either of them, these days. They stayed there a long time, ignoring everything else.  
.  
.  
.  
The apartment was dark and silent when Percy got in. He went to his room and flicked on the light, kicking off his shoes. He looked around—Hades, it really was a mess. He knew Annabeth didn’t really care, and his mother didn’t _really_ care, but…maybe he should care. 

With a sigh, he reached for an old textbook and pair of socks, then nudged a pile of laundry toward the closet—and abruptly felt bone-tired. Not the well-earned exhaustion that preceded sleep, but the familiar, empty fog that stole every ounce of energy, and made only one thing reverberate through his mind: _why does it even matter?_

Giving up, he walked to the couch, crashing down and staring at the ceiling. The truth was stark and alone. 

_Nothing really matters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how long this story will be, but there will be more. 
> 
> Commenting is SUPER helpful! Otherwise I basically think no one would read another chapter (writers are fragile egomaniacs, for one, but also writing just takes up a lot of my time, so to keep a fic going I need to know if anyone’s reading it/invested!)


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, shit.” 

Grover looked up from his guidebook just in time to see Percy trip and roll on the graffitied halfpipe. Percy got to his feet, swearing and shaking out his hand, which he’d used to catch himself, then went and grabbed his board. 

“Dude,” Grover shook his head. “I’ve never seen you miss that jump. What’s that?” 

Percy walked closer, blowing out his breath. “I don’t know.” He squinted across the skate park. “My head’s not in it today.” 

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking out at the dying sun. It still caught Grover a little off guard, seeing Percy’s arm tattoo. The roman symbol on the greek war hero. If you didn’t know what it meant, it looked fitting—even good, as was camp consensus among younger female campers—but if you did, it was disarming. 

Percy dropped his board and gave it a halfhearted kick, watching it roll into a wave ramp. He turned and hauled himself up beside Grover. 

“Thanks for coming from camp. I know things are kind of crazy there right now.” 

Grover shrugged. “Things are always crazy at that place. I needed a break. Although Juniper wants me back by tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, how’re things going with her?” 

“They’re good. They’re really good. It’s hard to be away from each other all the time, but she understands.” 

Percy nodded, looking out over the park. 

Grover flattened out a wrinkle in his guidebook. “What about with Annabeth? I talked to her the other day. She told me about what happened.” 

“With her school?” 

“Yeah. Jeez. I mean, I’m not surprised, but…” 

“I know. We’re so close too—I mean, to being done. She got it figured out, though. She’s just doing internship and Olympus stuff, now.” 

Grover glanced at him sideways. “How’re you guys, though?” 

There was a long silence. Percy had taken out riptide and was jiggling the pen through his fingers; he was never able to sit completely still. 

“We’re good.” 

Grover watched him. “Yeah?” 

Percy’s face was closed off, a little dark. It was often that way, lately. But Grover knew the subtle differences; the change between anger, contemplation, and what was just Percy’s resting face. And also when it was something deeper, something else. 

“Yeah.” Percy slid riptide back in his pocket, jumped to the ground, and grabbed his skateboard. “Let’s get out of here.” 

They had plans to meet Annabeth for dinner. The two of them wound their way back into the heart of the city, making a quick stop at Percy’s apartment to drop off his things, then headed out. 

Annabeth was waiting on a street corner, absorbed in her phone, which she put away when she saw them. She and Percy kissed briefly, then she and Grover hugged. “Hi.” She smiled at him. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“I know,” Grover agreed as they all started walking toward the diner. “And you’ve been having an interesting time of it. How’re things?” 

“Oh.” Annabeth brushed her hair behind her ear, looking ahead at the sidewalk. “They’re okay.” 

“Yeah?” 

She shrugged. “Olympus is a such a huge undertaking. It’s going to literally take years.” 

“Right. Maybe you should give the job away to someone who doesn’t mind hard work.” 

He grinned when she swatted his arm. 

“And what about your internship at the architecture firm? How’s that?” 

There was a moment of silence. When it stretched a little too long, he saw Percy glance at her. 

“Uh, it’s fine. I get a lot of coffee.” 

Normally, Annabeth would sound annoyed at this; she might even launch into a tangent on inequality and age discrimination. But now her voice was quiet, subdued. 

Grover waited, but she didn’t elaborate. 

They reached the diner, finding a back corner table. Over the course of the next hour, Grover updated them on camp, on Juniper, and on his latest assignments all over the country. They listened and asked questions and ate breadsticks, settling into a scene that was familiar, if not one hundred percent comfortable. Because he noticed, eventually, that Percy and Annabeth had hardly said two words to each other. 

When Annabeth’s drink refill came back wrong, Percy got up to go correct it. Grover seized his chance, leaning across the table. 

“Are you guys fighting?” 

“What?”

“You’ve hardly looked at each other. What’s going on?” 

Annabeth sat back, staring at the salt shaker. “No. We’re not fighting.” 

Grover waited, watching her. 

She took a deep breath. “We’re just—he—” she stopped. “I don’t know. I don’t. He can just be so distant, right now. Sometimes he won’t talk to me at all. But it’s not like—” she broke off, shaking her head and looking away. “I don’t know what’s going on.” 

Grover glanced up to make sure Percy wasn’t back, then said carefully, “he seems a little…depressed.” 

Annabeth glanced at him quickly, then went back to staring at the salt shaker, her lips pressed together. Her eyes looked shiny. 

“I mean…” Grover hesitated, thrown by Annabeth’s silence. “Maybe I’m off, but…” 

“No. You’re not off.” Her voice was very quiet.

Grover looked at her closely. “How are you actually, Annabeth?” 

She drew a shaky breath—and right at that moment, Percy returned. 

“They’re coming back with—” 

“I got fired,” Annabeth burst. 

Percy and Grover stared. 

She swallowed hard. “Yesterday. I got fired from my internship yesterday.” 

“Oh—oh. Annabeth. Jeez. Are you—I’m so sorry,” Grover stammered. He was too startled to know what to say. 

Percy was staring at her. “Wait, what? Why didn’t you tell me that?” 

She didn’t look at him. “I don’t know. It just happened yesterday.” 

“Yeah, but…” 

They lapsed into silence. The waitress returned with the correct drink. Grover pushed it toward Annabeth. “What happened?” 

She toyed with her straw; her eyes were still too shiny. “Uh…I guess I just wasn’t what they were looking for.” She gave a tiny shrug. “I don’t really want to talk about it.” 

Grover and Percy glanced at each other. Grover was waiting for Percy to say something to her, or do something comforting, but he didn’t. His face was hard to read; it was like he was withdrawing into himself. 

It wasn’t unlike how Annabeth had looked when Grover had suggested Percy was depressed. 

“Well…” Grover had no idea what to say. “At least you’ve still got Olympus.” 

Abruptly, Annabeth stood. “I’m ready to go.” Before they could protest, she’d grabbed her bag and headed for the door. 

Grover looked wide-eyed at Percy, but he just stood up and threw some money down on the table, then grabbed Annabeth’s coat off her chair, like this was all normal. 

He glanced at Grover and sighed. “Come on.” 

They found Annabeth out on the dark sidewalk. She was hugging herself, cold, and looked like she was blinking back tears. 

Percy stood behind her and gently helped her into her jacket, easing her long hair out from the collar. It was such a tender, soft gesture; but once the coat was on, Annabeth pulled back again, once more putting her arms around herself. 

Grover tried to figure out what to do—did they want to be alone? Did one of them need him more than the other? 

He was about to suggest they take a walk, when Percy spoke. “I think...I’m gonna go.” 

He was already stepping away; his face, half in shadow, was hard to see, but his messy hair was standing on end as he ran his hand through it for the umpteenth time. 

Annabeth stared at him, her mouth opening—then she closed it abruptly, and turned away from them. 

Grover floundered for something to say. What the hades was going on? 

“Uh, are you sure?” 

Percy wouldn’t look at him. “Yeah. I’ll see you guys later.” He seemed to look at Annabeth for a moment, but she didn’t turn around, and then, just like that, Percy was gone. 

Grover blew out a long breath. Then he stepped closer to his oldest friend. 

“Annabeth?” 

She was crying. Her shoulders shook as she swiped her sleeve under her eyes. 

“Did he seriously just leave?” Her voice was quiet, shaky. “I just told him I’d been _fired,_ and he actually just left?” 

“Um…” 

“Gods.” She shook her head. “This is a mess. This whole fucking year is a mess.” 

Grover rubbed his hand on her arm. “Come on, Annabeth. It’s cold. Let’s go get some coffee.” 

They walked down the street. She was quiet, sniffling occasionally. 

“How long has it been like this?” Grover asked. “I mean, with Percy. Being so…” he thought of the word she’d used, “…distant.” 

Annabeth sniffed. “I don’t want to talk about Percy.” 

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Okay, so you don’t want to talk about Percy, and you don’t to talk about your internship, and we’ve already talked all about me…” 

She shrugged. “Silence is fine with me.” 

But as it turned out, it wasn’t. By the time they’d gone two blocks, she was talking. 

“He’s not always like that. It comes and goes. Sometimes he’s more open, and happy, or—supportive, I guess.” She was quiet. “But it’s not like—I mean…” 

Grover looked at her. 

“I’m not always there for him, either. It’s not like—like, payback, or anything. It’s just…it’s _hard._ It’s hard to be emotionally supportive all the time.” 

Grover moved a little closer to her. “Especially, maybe, when you’re not doing so great yourself?” 

She nodded. “Yeah. Exactly. Like—I’m not cutout to be someone’s therapist, you know? And—I guess that goes both ways.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.” 

She let out a shuddering breath. “Gods. I just thought—” but she bit off her words, shaking her head, and didn’t speak again for a long time. 

Eventually Grover bought them cups of coffee, and they sat on a bench by a fountain, because Annabeth didn’t want to go inside anywhere. She said it made her claustrophobic.

For a long time she watched the water in the fountain, gripping her cup, eyes red. Grover waited her out. It wasn’t uncomfortable, despite her sadness. Out of all the people in the world, they were a pairing who had always felt completely at ease. 

Finally, she spoke. “What did you think, when we went on our first quest?” 

He was quiet for a moment, considering. “Well, I was scared out of my head. I only went because I was the protector. I mean, I really thought we could have died.” 

He looked at her. “You didn’t think that though, did you?” 

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s weird, because of what happened to Thalia, but death still wasn’t real to me. Maybe because she’d been kind of…saved, in the end. But I really wasn’t scared.” She took a deep breath. “I just wanted—I wanted _so_ badly to prove myself. To have…an adventure.” 

They were quiet for a minute. “And we did,” Grover glanced at her with a sad half-smile. “We had quite the adventures.” 

“Yeah.” Annabeth’s voice was very quiet. “But it didn’t stop there.” 

He put his arm around her, then. She leaned her head gently on his shoulder. They listened to the water splash in the fountain. And they didn’t speak.  
.  
.  
.  
“Hi, Grover. Thanks for returning my call.” 

“Hey, anytime, Sally. How’s it going?” 

“Oh, well.” There was a long exhale down the line. “Actually, not so great. Percy—he’s…struggling.” 

Grover hesitated. “Yeah. I know he is.” 

“He actually—” Sally was quiet a moment. “He’s been in bed for two days. He just says that he’s…tired. But—” another deep breath. “Of course it’s more than that. And he won’t talk to us.” 

Grover had already reversed course, heading toward the bus stop that would take him into the city. 

“I know that there’s been a lot of—well, just a lot. He’s been through it. He’s lost people, and he’s seen things, and he’s had to do—” she broke off. There was a long silence. 

Then she spoke quietly. “Would you come?” 

Grover swiped his bus pass. “Of course. I’m already on the way.”  
.  
.  
.  
“Dude. That was my last life.” 

Grover groaned at the screen, setting down his controller and reaching for the bag of carrots. 

Percy shrugged. “This level blows.” 

“Yeah, but you’re still in it.” 

“Some of us are more naturally gifted at blowing up the undead.” 

“I’m getting that.” 

They’d spent the last day on the couch. They didn’t talk about anything heavy; just zoned out and gamed for hours, pausing to eat the food Sally made, or to watch a dumb movie instead. 

No mention of homework, or school, or camp. Taking a break, Sally called it. 

When Paul got home, he gave them a wave, then went into his room with his briefcase. After a while he emerged, and asked if they wanted pizza, which was a no brainer. And then Sally appeared in the doorway, phone in hand; she pointed to it and mouthed _Annabeth,_ eyebrows raised in a question. 

Percy got up and grabbed the phone, took it straight out of the apartment, and closed the front door behind him. 

Sally and Grover exchanged looks. “He could’ve just gone into his room,” Grover pointed out. 

Sally shrugged. “Sometimes you have to be a little—wait, not dramatic, what was the word?” 

Paul leaned in from the kitchen. “Extra.”

Sally clicked her fingers. “Extra.”

And when he came back, he sat on the couch, tipped his head back and closed his eyes. 

“Hey, Grover?” 

“Yeah?” 

Percy let out a long sigh, but not a bad one. 

“Thanks.” 

Grover leaned his head back, too. 

But he didn’t need to say anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Not planning for this to be the end. Even though I haven't replied, I read and adore every single comment--multiple times! [makes dorky shruggy gesture]. Hey, there's a quarantine and we gotta get our dopamine somewhere right?  
> So, please tell me what you think. Hope you guys are safe and well. xo.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hi, it’s me…” 

Percy’s voice was low and soft through the filter of her voicemail. Annabeth stepped out of the sun, under the shade of an olive tree to listen. 

“My mom said you called…sorry we keep missing each other. I bet you’re up on Olympus, blowing everyone away with your mad design skills, looking all beautiful and in charge.” She bit the inside of her cheek against an involuntary smile. 

“Anyway…I miss you…I hope your day’s good.” A pause. “I’ll call you later…I love you.” 

Annabeth slid down to the cool dirt in the shade, keeping the phone pressed against her ear long after his voice ended, her eyes pressed shut. 

_My mom said you called…sorry we keep missing each other._ The last time she’d called, Sally had told her, after a long muffled pause, that Percy had “just stepped out the door.” The time before, he’d “been in the shower.” They missed each other because he avoided her. 

She swallowed and looked at the phone for a long time. Only a few days before, they’d gone to Coney Island and the sun was out and he’d slid his hands up under her sweater when he kissed her in Luna Park. She’d almost forgotten she was unhappy. 

The sun was out on Olympus, too, in contrast to the rain below. She squinted across the grass to the crew building the new temple. The next phase started today, after a number of delays. She was there to oversee it, answer questions, make sure everything went perfectly. 

To be honest, though, she was slightly hiding. 

Athena was on Olympus, too. Annabeth had spotted her after leaving the elevator. Her mother was talking to a minor god near the orchard; Annabeth had faltered, uncertain, and when Athena hadn’t turned or acknowledged her in any way, she’d kept walking. 

They hadn’t seen each other since the war. The thing about gods, versus mortals? Sometimes mortals didn’t see you, didn’t hear you, were too wrapped up in their own head and needed a greeting to notice you were there. 

With gods, you knew they were ignoring you on purpose. 

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, swallowing hard, smelling the warm dirt and sweet, new blossoms from the fruit trees nearby. Her eyes, though, were dry. She didn’t have a headache. She was just hiding. 

The men on her crew shouted to each other, their words sharp, tones climbing. One gestured to the other, wide and angry. She should go over there and see what was going on. She should de-escalate whatever it was, remind them who was in charge, and that with all the delays, there wasn’t time for messing around. 

She blinked against a sudden, unbidden memory; her stomach twisted. A man’s bored voice, a gray suit, another condescending remark—books on the floor, the desk suddenly bare, spilled coffee on expensive leather shoes—sharp voices—the door slamming behind her, the sudden noise of traffic. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing into her temples. 

“Hey, Annabeth!” 

“Chase! Yo, Boss Lady!”

Two men were approaching; the project supervisor, Jeffers, and his assistant. She was on her feet, brushing dirt from her legs. 

“Yes?” She could hear the instant authority in her voice. “Is there a holdup?” 

The two men glanced at each other; their faces were impatient. Jeffers was holding his copy of the temple plans. 

“We’ve got some problems.” He ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “These plans…” He took a deep breath, confused. “Maybe you gave us a draft, by mistake. They’re just not consistent.” 

Annabeth stared at him, uncomprehending. She checked the blueprint. 

“No,” she said evenly. “This is the final plan. Can you walk me through your confusion?” 

She tried to sound open and tolerant. She knew she could get a little—superior. Especially when others didn’t understand what she did. But it was a job, making full grown men see her as in charge. 

Jeffers and the assistant looked at each other. “Annabeth—it’s more about what _isn’t_ wrong, here.” Jeffers pointed to the plans. “The second phase isn’t lining up with the first. I didn’t catch it right away, but this doesn’t even add up—” He kept talking, pointing out every inconsistency. “The thing is, it doesn’t even make sense. And we went ahead and had the guys get all that material, but now it’s tanked—” 

His voice started to sound very far away. Annabeth stared at the blueprint, but the lines were starting to fade out of focus. 

“Look,” Jeffers said to her. “I shoulda caught it sooner, but we got started, and—” he gestured behind them, to a very fed-up crew. Some of them were walking away. “I just don’t understand,” Jeffers finished. The two of them were watching her, waiting for her response. 

She took a deep breath, but there was a faint roaring in her ears. Again, she saw the books and files—one moment on the desk, the next on the floor—the coffee on leather shoes—

She blinked. “I…” 

The truth was, Jeffers was right. She could see exactly what he was saying, and why it didn’t work—why it didn’t even make _sense._ The mistakes were obvious, and incomprehensible. The worst part was, it was too late. This wasn’t a no-damage-done situation. 

What was _wrong_ with her? 

She swallowed hard. All her heady authority had evaporated. “I…” dumbly, she took the blueprint from Jeffers. “I’ll look over them again.” 

Jeffers glanced at his assistant. Then he put a hand on her arm. “Listen, Annabeth, why don’t we take a walk?” 

She allowed herself to be steered away, down a crushed-stone path. 

Jeffers didn’t speak for a while. Annabeth knew that, under his trying-to-be-patient veneer, he was annoyed and frustrated.

“Look, Annabeth…” He ran a hand through his hair. “This isn’t like you. I know you were chosen for a reason. I know you’re a big war hero, and probably the best architect the gods could find for this job.” 

She swallowed again, trying to find her voice. 

“But right now, I’m questioning their decision.” Jeffers looked at her straight on. “Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’re going through some hero stuff. But that’s gotta be the first thing you learn about the real world—don’t mix work with personal life.” 

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

“Aw, maybe I sound like an asshole—I know you’ve been living in the real world a long time, now. And you’ve got a job most grown folks would sell their kids for.” Jeffers ran a hand down his face. “You’re a good architect and a good project manager, most of the time. Is there anything you want to talk about?” 

She didn’t actually know Jeffers’ story. Obviously he wasn’t just a mortal man, living or working here on Olympus. She’d never bothered to find out about him, she realized. She’d just accepted him as her crew’s supervisor—someone beneath her, someone she had to make sure listened and respected her—and steam rolled on. 

She opened her mouth again. Was there anything she wanted to talk about? She thought about the last week and month, the last year. A hundred things came to mind, but they weren’t words. A film reel of sounds and images—spilled coffee, raised voices; her principal’s raised eyebrow, _you’ve crossed the last line_ ; her mother pretending she didn’t exist; the way she couldn’t sleep at night; her boyfriend telling her voicemail he loved her, when he couldn’t say it in person, anymore. And further back—the doors of death closing on left-behind heroes; a giant spider caught in a trap; months of an empty Poseidon cabin; closing the eyes of a friend, dead in another friend’s arms; watching a cursed dagger handed over, and watching what came next. 

The reel didn’t stop—holding up the weight of the sky; learning the betrayal of the only person she’d held in her heart; screaming and fighting as she was carried away from her friend’s sacrifice; pleading with her father to listen, and watching him turn away; trying to play legos with her baby brothers, until _she_ came and snatched them up, _not right now, Annabeth._

No sound came from her throat. She breathed in slowly through the nose. “No. No. I don’t have anything to say.” 

Jeffers studied her. “Well, I’m just gonna say it then—what happened today was inexcusable. You’re the project manager, and the architect, and after all our delays—which meant we weren’t getting paid—this stunt happens and I’ve got guys walking off the job. I don’t know what to tell you, except—” He ran a hand over his hair, shaking his head. “Take a break, okay? This isn’t the right place for you, if your head’s not in it. Maybe it’s a fun little hobby of yours, but for some of us, it’s our livelihood. Just because we’re on Olympus doesn’t mean we don’t have kids to feed, understand?” 

The faint roar in Annabeth’s ears was getting louder and louder. Her stomach was so twisted she thought she might vomit. Numbly, she nodded. 

“All right, then. Take the time you need. I’ll take it up with Athena, tell her we’re gonna halt construction for a while—unless you’d like to do that?” 

“No.” 

He nodded. “I’ll see you later, Annabeth. I hope things can turn around here.” 

As she walked away, she passed the spot where she’d nearly fallen to her death, all that time ago. _Or not so long ago at all, maybe._ She turned suddenly, and looked to where the supervisor was still standing. 

“Jeffers,” she called back, her voice strong. 

He looked at her. 

“It’s not a fun little hobby. It’s my livelihood, too.” _Not the way that he meant it. But it’s—it’s a lifeline. It’s something I have to do._

He was quiet a moment. “Say that again when you’ve got a family who will be turned onto the street if you don’t bring home a paycheck, Annabeth.” 

She stood there. They regarded each other from across the distance. Then she nodded to show she understood, and he gave her a small salute, and she headed for the elevators.  
.  
.  
.  
The subway was quiet. She stared out the window. She knew she should feel sorry, but really, feelings were starting to seem more like a memory than reality. 

There was a slight buzzing in her stomach. It grew out, through her veins to her hands, so they faintly shook, needing something to connect with. It crept to her head, clouding out other thoughts. The buzzing was familiar. It was connected to the film reel. She’d felt it at school, now and then. She’d felt it at her internship, when, for the last time, someone’s debasing comment had started the film reel in her mind, which then triggered the buzzing in her body, and before she knew it, she’d pushed everything off the man’s desk onto the floor. 

She tipped her head back, and she watched the gray graffiti out the window, and she thought of nothing at all.  
.  
.  
.  
“Annabeth?” 

Malcolm flicked her ankle, like it would tap him into her thoughts. “Hey. I’ve been talking to you for like five minutes.” 

Annabeth sat up on her elbows and looked at him. She was lying on the old dock, staring up at the sky, trying very hard to disappear into the sun-warmed wood. Or had been, until now. 

“Where’ve you been?” Malcolm sat down. “You’ve hardly even shown up to meals since you got back yesterday. What’s going on?” 

Annabeth looked at him. He needed a haircut. He looked older to her, suddenly. He’d been running the Athena cabin without her so much, now—why was she still considered head counselor, anyway? She was hardly ever there. 

She shifted her elbow away from a loose nail; and then again, off her hair, which was fanned all around her, loose and unkempt. She supposed she needed a haircut, too. 

“Annabeth?” He had a different expression now. Serious and contemplative, as usual, but something else, too. Concerned. 

“You should be head counselor.” She didn’t decide to say it, so much as hear her own emotionless voice after it was said. 

“What?” 

She shaded her eyes to keep looking at him. “You heard me. You should. I’m never even here.” 

“Uh…” Malcolm was looking at her hard. “First of all, yes you are, since you got kicked out of school and have nowhere else to live…” 

Well, at least Athena kids told it straight. 

“And second of all, you’re going off to college in the fall, so yeah, I’ll step up when it’s officially time.” He had a very steady gaze. He kind of reminded her of Jason. “And thirdly, you’ll always have a place here as head counselor, Annabeth. Whenever you come back—summers, whatever.” He tilted his head. “I can make do in your place, but I will never be you. I’ll never fill your shoes completely, or do half the job you’re capable of.” 

She felt frozen in place—elbows digging into wood, sun in her hair, face dark and still. She couldn’t move and she couldn’t speak and she could hardly even breathe. 

Malcolm leaned forward; he grabbed her sneaker, giving the toes a squeeze. “What the heck is going on with you? Why are you trying to give everything away?” 

She squinted at her shoe. “That’s not it,” she answered, voice barely audible. 

He shook his head. “Yes, it is it. I’m worried about you, you know that? A lot of people are. It’s not like you, Annabeth. School, and losing your internship—and now you’re skipping out on camp stuff, too—” 

She pulled her feet away from him. “Yes, it is like me,” she shot back. “I’m a half-blood too. Just because we’re Athena kids and perfectionism is our whole freaking world, doesn’t mean I don’t have shit too, okay?” 

“I know that—but I also know you, and this isn’t normal.” 

“Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.” It was weak, she knew. But while this was normally the point in an argument where she’d storm off, right now she just wanted for him to be the one to leave, so she could go back to staring at the sky and pretending the world didn’t exist. 

He sighed. “Okay, sure.” A silence. He was still watching her. “Is it stuff with your dad?” 

She picked at her shoelace. Her voice was cold. “No.” 

“Stuff with Percy?” 

She looked away, out at the lake, and swallowed, shaking her head. 

He was quiet for a while. She knew he sensed there was more there, and seemed to be deciding whether to push it. 

But instead he lapsed into silence. He seemed to sense that, finally, she was close to crying. 

They listened to the lake water lap gently against the dock. It didn’t seem like he was leaving any time soon. She stared out across the water, to where some Ares campers were racing in canoes. Gods, they sucked at water sports. 

When she spoke, she surprised herself. “Do you think I’m like mom?” 

There was silence—it seemed she’d surprised him, too. And yet, he seemed to know exactly what she was asking. “What, a cold-hearted bitch?” 

She made one of those halfway sounds, caught in her throat. 

Percy had been right. Their younger selves couldn’t imagine the careless way they insulted the gods these days. 

She drew a deep breath, still looking outward. “Yeah.” 

Malcolm seemed to actually be thinking it through. “Huh. Yeah…yeah, somewhat.” His voice was thoughtful, matter-of-fact, like they were reviewing battle plans. “You’re less cold-hearted, though. At least compared to her.” 

She squinted, cocking her head to the side. “So, I’m just a bitch.” 

“I mean, you can be cold, too. Unless people really know you. Or unless you actually like someone. And you’re in a good mood. And, uh, have gotten a good night’s sleep.” 

She just looked at him. 

“What? You asked. Why is that a bad thing?” 

She drew her knees close, folding her arms on top of them. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” 

He nudged her foot with his. “You know I mean that, right? It’s not bad. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s what’s gotten you through a landslide of disasters.” 

She stared at him. _A landslide of disasters._ A highlight reel of examples flickered past—including hauling her and Percy out of Tartarus, even when it meant leaving others behind. 

Quickly, she dug her fingers into her temples, shutting out the other film reel that threatened to play behind it. 

Her chest was tight. She looked out at the water again. The canoers were either learning to swamp canoes, or trying to drown each other. 

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I guess I can see that.” 

He was watching her again. “Did something…” He stopped. “Did some _one_ …say something to you…? Because really, it’s only okay when I say it.” 

She rolled her eyes, but a smile broke through, too. “No. I’m just trying to make peace with being a frigid ice monster, really.” 

He hit her shoulder with his, and smiled too. “Good. Cause whatever you are, we need you back, Chase.” 

She hugged her knees closer, rested her chin against them, and sighed.  
.  
.  
.  
Camp was a good place to escape the rest of the world, normally. During peaceful times, you could live there as long as you needed without ever really leaving. Annabeth’s initial plan for the year had been to visit occasionally. After being expelled, she’d adapted; it was her base again, with regular ventures to the city for—essentially—her real life. After being fired from her internship, she’d held up her head like she wasn’t spinning apart, and focused on what was left. 

After the incident on Olympus, all she had left was the spinning. 

A few times over the next couple days, she wandered down to the lake, or up near Thalia’s tree, where service was okay, and called Percy. And yet, all she got were voicemails, hazy excuses from his parents, and once, a twenty-second, “I’m really glad you called but I’m running out to meet a study group call you soon okay bye.” 

_Running_ to _study._ Sure, she knew he was working harder this year, and yet—she wasn’t that stupid. 

The thing was, it wasn’t all on him. She knew, in a place that was hard to acknowledge, that perhaps there had been times when he’d tried to tell her something, to open up about everything, and she’d put him off. Times when he’d tried to vocalize things, and she’d covered it up with incessant talking about routine things, or had straight up shut him down.

And yet, she wasn’t the one who walked away or refused to pick up the phone. It was hard to feel like her entire life wasn’t disappearing before her eyes. 

So when Chiron wanted to talk to her, she should have agreed. She should have sat down and opened up and let him in to the spinning place, the buzzing place; she should have given voice to the film reel that started the buzzing and took over everything and made her feel white-empty compulsion, which ended in shoved desks and withheld diplomas and now, somehow, total humiliation and failure in the face of her career, her mother, and the gods—and also possibly the deterioration of her relationship. She should have been able to do that. 

“Annabeth—” he called after her, following her in his chair to the door of the Big House, which she slammed behind her. “It is important to rely on others, and on the truth,” he called through the screen. “I would merely like to clear up—” 

But she didn’t hear the rest. He’d wanted to know what had happened—in basically all the areas of her life where she’d completely failed, but mostly on Olympus. 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she’d said, looking him straight in the eye. “Except that I can't do it." She'd taken a shaky breath. "I screwed up. I am just a total and complete fuck-up, all right?” 

His eyes had tightened, and looked even more ancient. “My dear,” he’d said quietly. “If there is anything you are, it is—” 

“Don’t.” She’d gotten to her feet. “Just don’t do that. I don’t have a plan, and I don’t have anything to do, and I don’t have anyone who—” she’d swallowed, and looked around wildly. “What was it all for?” 

“What was what for?” 

“This!” She’d gestured around, feeling something rising in her, feeling the images start in her mind. “All I wanted was to get out! The whole point of this place is to train us—for _what?_ Watching our friends die and never getting a moment of peace and then failing at the real world, and never sleeping and never being happy, and for _what?_ For the gods? Well guess what—they _don’t fucking care!”_

Her voice broke on the last words. She’d turned for the door, feeling the buzzing start to consume her. 

The camp was bright with sunlight, but she could barely see. Her hands were shaking—it had been like this before, too— _coffee on leather shoes, books facedown and wide open—harsh voices—her mother turning away—“What happened today was inexcusable”—a giant spider flying at her head—the doors of death closing—screams—desperate, left behind screams—_

“Annabeth?” A hand grabbed her arm—the buzzing became a white-hot roar— _“Annabeth!”_

She blinked. There was blood on her hand. A girl was lying on the ground before her, clutching her nose. 

“Annabeth! What the hell just happened?” Other campers were running toward them. The girl on the ground sat up—blood was streaming over her mouth, down her chin. It was Kayla, from the Apollo cabin. She was Annabeth’s friend. 

An empty, rising, hollow desperation caved in Annabeth’s chest. She tried to breathe, but there wasn’t any air. They were all staring at her, talking to her, confused and horrified and probably beyond disgusted at her behavior. 

She pushed past and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just love annabeth, don't you? 
> 
> please, please tell me all your thoughts! 
> 
> (yeah i know it's angsty; it's a story about the aftermath of war...🤷🏼♀️)


	5. Chapter 5

“Sweetheart?” 

Sally pushed open the door to Percy’s bedroom. The bed was unmade; laundry and school books piled up on the floor. It had a stale energy, like nothing had changed in weeks. It was also empty. 

Sally lingered a moment, then picked up a t-shirt from the floor. She folded it slowly and placed it on the bed, smoothing her hand over the wrinkled orange fabric, pausing at a hole in the collar. He didn’t seem to have a thing from that place that hadn’t been through the wringer. 

The setting sun was slanting through the blinds, striping the room in orange. She picked up a textbook next, placing it on the desk. It was history, heavier than a brick. Her mind went back to long hours with easy-reader booklets; the worksheets and programs and teacher’s disparaging notes. The times Percy would throw his material against the wall, or tear it in half, or erupt that it was stupid and the teachers were stupid and everything—reading, school, and the world—was stupid. 

She squeezed the dense history book, looking over the other texts and study guides. Was he really using them? They were scattered pell-mell, more than one left open, facedown, or kicked under the desk, an air of forgottenness. She should know how he was getting along. She should have checked in more. 

And where _was_ he? 

Sally looked around the room, a distant swell in her throat. Amidst all the parenting guidance on raising a teenager, with the changes and challenges it brought, they warned of drug abuse and secrecy and building self-esteem, but there was one thing they’d failed to say: that it could feel like the loneliest thing in the world.

She swallowed, closing her eyes as she heard the front door open, and Paul get in from work. She breathed deeply, and for a moment she was standing on a beach, and a little boy with wind-blown hair was running full-blast to hug her legs, his fists full of seashells and wet sand. 

“Sally?” 

Paul stood in the doorway, watching her. Startled, she looked down; she was holding Percy’s hoodie, the one he’d left behind when he disappeared. She used to come in and fold it, move it to a hanger, then take it down again, over and over, saying he’d need it again soon, along with all his other things. And then he finally did come back, and the hoodie was too small; it would never fit him again. 

“Honey…” Paul’s voice was careful. He came in and gently took the sweatshirt. “What’s going on?” 

Sally took a breath. “I was just looking for Percy. You know how we asked him to start leaving notes when he goes out?” 

Paul squeezed her arm, and led her back to the living room. “He’ll be back, Sally.” 

She swallowed. “I know. I just—I don’t know if he’s not hearing us, or just doesn’t care.” 

Paul sighed. “Well, we can talk to him again.” 

She let Paul pour her a glass of wine and push her down on the couch. He put on her favorite Joni Mitchell record and started making dinner. 

Sally stayed there a while, thinking. Then she grabbed the phone and tried calling Percy. Both times it went straight to voicemail, like it was off, or dead. 

She dug the phone under her chin, taking a deep breath. In front of her was the wall of family pictures she’d worked on over the past couple years. Absently, she looked at them, stepping closer. 

There was the one after Percy’s birth, taken by a nurse at the hospital. Sally’s hair was damp; she was weak and drained, but her face, shining down at the bundle in her arms, was an exhausted beam of gratitude. She looked like a teenager, herself. She remembered the hospital staff’s concern that she was there alone. And the way Percy had cried nonstop after the rough delivery; the nurse had handed him back to Sally, saying, “He’s a fighter, this one.” She’d glanced them over, and added, “Not unlike his mama.” 

There was Percy’s fifth birthday; a dark shot of him behind his cake, candles glowing, Sally pressing in to kiss his cheek. Her hair was so long, then. A waitressing friend had taken the picture. 

And more: pictures on the beach, blurry and sometimes tilted. One of her that he’d taken, catching her unawares—her face lifted to the rainy sky just as a sunbeam broke through; her old high school sweatshirt, her bare feet, her hair loose like seaweed. 

And then they tapered off for a few years…mostly just to Percy’s school pictures, which coincided with him entering pre-adolescence, and his sweet grin was replaced with scowls and stare-downs. In one, a white tag was visible at the collar; they’d made him turn his shirt inside out to hide whatever profanity it advertised. 

There were none at all of Sally from that time. 

Eventually, the pictures picked up again. There was one that had never found a frame, tucked into a corner; an image of Percy, Grover and Annabeth from a few years ago, seated on a bench and looking bored in a very obligatory, teenager sort of way. She’d suggested they smile, and was met with eye rolls and determined indifference. 

It was one of her favorite shots. 

There was also her and Paul at the courthouse; she wore a normal white dress, something you’d wear to the beach or a dinner party, and held a bouquet of violets. In one, she had her arms thrown around him; he was laughing into her neck. The other was posed for the camera, and Percy stood with them. 

She studied Percy’s face in that one. He was smiling—the way anyone does for a posed shot, she supposed. Not in a natural, wildly happy way. She had been wildly happy, that day. She cast her eyes, suddenly, over all the pictures. When was the last time he’d felt that way? 

The record stuttered, then stopped. Sally blinked, then went to flip the B-side. As she was lifting the needle, there was a distinct knock on the door. 

Startled, she peered through the peephole, then opened it quickly. “Annabeth?” 

The teenager stood before her, wearing an oversize hoodie and torn jeans. She wasn’t crying, exactly, but there was something pale in her appearance. 

Annabeth stepped inside. “Hi, Sally…” She glanced around. “Is Percy here?” 

Sally shook her head slowly. “No, honey. He’s out somewhere.” 

“Oh.” Annabeth looked at her fingernails. “Sorry to barge in—a neighbor let me in the building. I tried calling him, but, well, he never has his phone…” 

“No, he doesn’t, does he?” Sally studied Annabeth. While relatively healthy—at least physically—there was still a certain look about her that Sally could only identify as _underfed._ Not malnourished. Not wasting away. But pale, lacking, cut off from something she wasn’t getting, and needed. 

Annabeth sank down onto the couch. She rubbed a spot above her eyebrow, hardly seeming aware she was doing it. She looked tired. 

Sally sat in the armchair opposite, and deliberated. Something she had learned about Annabeth was that, despite being tough and smart and fiercely independent, she was…flighty. She was hungry for something that perhaps only a girl who had grown up without a mother—without much of any real family—could be hungry for. 

Sally would know. 

But if you pushed too far too fast, or tried to overdo it, Annabeth was quick to distance herself. She was more street-smart, more independent, and less touchy-feely than Sally. There had been a handful of instances of Annabeth accepting a hug, or an honest conversation, or even a mug of tea and a place to rest from Sally—there had been even more, though, when all of those things had been smoothly deflected, with a swift excuse and then exit. 

So instead of asking questions, Sally began casually talking about her own day. “I started the final round of edits on my manuscript—well, we can only hope—and you know, the perspective you gave on the Roman Empire was dead useful…” 

She went on for a while, light and easy. 

Annabeth listened, asking the occasional question, but still looking distinctly not-okay. 

When Paul poked his head in and gave Annabeth a little wave, Sally invited her to stay for dinner. Annabeth immediately declined and said she should be going, but Paul waved them off—“It’s not ready for a while yet; a good curry takes _time_.” He disappeared back to the stove. 

Sally wondered what would happen if Percy came home to find Annabeth having dinner with her and Paul. Once, she knew it would be a lighthearted, easy thing; now, she wondered if Percy was avoiding his girlfriend. 

“So, how’s your internship going?” Sally asked, aiming for casual. 

Annabeth blinked. “Oh, um…” 

Silence stretched out; Annabeth stared at her hands, her eyes fixed. She swallowed hard. And then they both seemed to realize at the same time that she was crying. 

“Oh, honey…” Sally stood just as Annabeth did; the teenage girl backed away, swiping under her eyes. 

“I should go—I have to—” She reeled toward the door. 

“Annabeth, honey, please stay—” Sally reached for her arm, but she had already gone. 

Taking a deep breath, Sally placed a hand over her chest, and watched the door close. Then she muttered a rare curse word, and turned for the kitchen. 

“She just took off?” Paul turned the stove burner to a simmer. 

Sally held up her hands, helpless. “When I asked about her internship—although, she seemed upset when she got here—she was looking for Percy.” 

Paul wiped his hands on a towel and pulled her in, pressing his lips into her hair. “You know, baby, you can’t parent everyone.” 

Sally shook her head. “No, honey—I’ve known Annabeth since she was a little girl, practically. She’s had a rough time. And she and Percy have been close for years—you know that.” 

She turned so she rested against his chest, his arm around her waist. “You know she’s the reason Percy wants to go to college. I thank my lucky stars every day for that girl.” 

She thought a moment. “Although, I think he’s been avoiding her.” 

Paul leaned back. “You think? The past two times she’s called, he told me to say he wasn’t here.” 

Sally frowned. “That’s right, isn’t it? I wonder why.” 

“They’re young, Sally. He’ll figure it out.” 

The thing was, though, they were only a couple years younger than Sally had been when she’d met Poseidon. When she’d become a mother. The idea of that scared the hell out of her. 

They were interrupted by the sound of the door; Percy was home. 

Sally went immediately over. He looked tired, worn; he kicked off his shoes and barely acknowledged them. 

“You want dinner?” Paul called from the kitchen. 

Percy waved a hand. “No, I ate.” He headed for his room. 

“Percy, honey, hang on a minute and talk to me,” Sally protested. 

With a sigh, her son turned and looked at her. 

“Where were you?” Sally could hear the concern in her voice. “I would really appreciate it if you would let me know—” 

“Mom, I was just kicking around the city, and I’m back before dark—” 

“Yes, but we asked you to leave a note, or tell us where you are—” 

“I was barely gone two hours! Why is everything such a huge deal now?” He lifted his hands, his frustration in every syllable. 

Sally took a calming breath. Her voice was soft. “Percy, I’m just trying to find a way that works for all of us, all right? I think a little compromise isn’t too much to ask.” 

He clearly wasn’t in the mood for this discussion. “Okay, whatever.” He turned to go. 

“Hang on—did you see Annabeth?” 

He turned. “Annabeth?” 

“She only just left—I thought you might’ve caught her downstairs, or—” 

“Annabeth was _here?”_

“She was looking for you. She seemed really upset—she left here crying.” 

She watched Percy process that information. His face was dark and serious; she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. 

He started walking to his room again. 

“Sweetheart, I really think you should call her—I’m concerned about her lack of support system. She doesn’t have the resources that—” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Percy, please come back here and talk about this. I mentioned her internship and it seemed to set her off—I don’t know what’s going on, but I think it’s important that you show up for—” 

“Mom.” His voice was sharp. “Stop.” 

He turned to face her again. “I don’t need you to talk to me about this. You don’t have to get involved in everything.” 

Sally put her hands up, taking a deep breath, upset. “Percy, I am trying to have a two minute conversation with you—” 

“No, you’re butting in to stuff that doesn’t involve you, and you’re being really controlling—” his voice rose as he pushed past her for the front door. 

“Percy Jackson, do not leave again—” 

The door slammed. 

Silence reverberated through the apartment. Sally pressed a palm to her forehead, closing her eyes and breathing; she felt the tears anyway. 

She sensed Paul behind her. He put his hands on her arms, strong and steady. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Sally whispered, eyes still shut. “I don’t know what to do for him.” 

Paul was silent for a moment. Then he said, voice thoughtful, “He’s strong, Sally.” 

He kissed her hair. “Like someone else I know.”  
.  
.  
.  
Here was the thing that Sally Jackson knew about love. 

It wasn’t light, or sugary, or full of Hallmark movies and blanket forts and perfectly-angled photographs. 

Love was gritty, and determined, and real. It looked like working twelve-hour shifts, arguing to keep the lights on, and keeping a brave face. It looked like long reading-practice sessions, throwing out a useless report card, and straight-up begging a board of admissions. Like silence and appeasement and shrinking; like bruises and long sleeves in the summer; like sacrifice. It was cramped apartments and rare, long drives to the beach and running straight into the waves; a photograph taken off-kilter and unawares. 

And no one told you how to do it; you went along and made all these blind decisions, hoping and praying they were right, using one thing as your guide. And somewhere along the way, you realized the sacrifice got blurry, because you wanted the best for your kid—but maybe the best wasn’t keeping them with you, it was sending them away, maybe forever—and suddenly the harm that was caused at home seemed greater than that which could be inflicted anywhere else. 

Or maybe that was only clear in hindsight. 

The world wasn’t a safe place for her son. But it wasn’t a safe place for anyone else’s, either. That was what she knew; that was what she’d told herself. You can’t protect them from everything—you can only try to give them what they need. 

Her own love had turned selfish; what she had given him was a volatile, chaotic home. An unstable handful of formative years, with a figure of mistreatment and abuse.  
The rest of his life—camp and the quests and the wars—she couldn’t control. She could only be there, then and now. And while it was hard and painful, it was almost more so to look back and see what she had had control over—and what could never be reversed. 

Those scars ran deep. She would know. 

And so at midnight, when the only sound was the tick of the mantle clock and the hum of television from the next-door neighbors; when Percy had still not returned, she got up from her vigil on the couch, put the feeling of helplessness behind her, and she made a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think/any parts that stand out to you. 
> 
> certainly some of this fic--perhaps most of it--is more contemplative than action-based. I am just exploring what I want to explore. 
> 
> finally, I hope you are safe and all right.


	6. Chapter 6

The sunlight was jarring outside the movie theater. Percy tossed out his soda and shoved his hands in his pockets, his friends catching up to him as they strolled down the street.

“It was just so... _bad,”_ Grover said wonderingly, falling into step beside him. “I think our camp orientation video gives more accurate information.” 

“Yeah, but this one had the hunky leads,” Connor Stoll pointed out. “Guys, we’re doing this wrong. Demigods are supposed to be like, ripped.” 

“Most demigods don’t live long enough to have the chance,” Will countered fairly. “Your muscle development doesn’t even plateau until your twenties, so—” 

“Okay, I don’t actually need an anatomy lesson, but thanks, man—” 

They switched to debating the finer points of the battle scenes, and Percy only half-listened as he walked a pace ahead. He could feel riptide in his pocket, and it grounded him. It was bizarre to sit amongst all the regular people for whom it was just a movie, when he knew those scenes from life. Tearing apart monsters, giving battle direction, making bloody sacrifices. 

Except he usually wore a shirt. 

“Honestly though, they screwed up so bad on the details,” Connor circled back. “You know who would’ve gone crazy over that? Annabeth.” He laughed. “Oh, one time when we were kids, we watched the old Clash of the Titans in the Big House—Chiron had no idea, it was awesome—and she filled this notebook with all the mistakes. Gods, what a nerd. I miss her.” 

Grover grinned. “Oh man, I remember that. The secret movie times were the best.” 

It was weird, Percy realized, that all of them had known Annabeth longer than he had. It was strange that they had these childhood memories without him. 

“She should’ve come today,” Will said, as though the idea only just occurred to him. “I haven’t seen her since what happened at camp.” 

Percy stopped walking. So did Grover. 

Grover turned around. “What happened at camp?” 

“Uh…” The other two glanced at each other. 

Connor scratched the back of his neck. “She sort of…hit Kayla in the face?” 

Grover blinked. “On _purpose?”_

“I don’t think so,” Will responded, at the same moment Connor answered, “Who could tell?” 

Percy felt like an icy brick had landed in his stomach. When had this happened? 

“Okay,” Connor held up his hands as Will turned on him. “It’s just, they weren’t in the arena or anything—she just knocked Kayla out of the way—” 

“There was more to the story, Connor—” 

“And took off—I mean, we were all really worried about her. Kayla wasn’t mad, either, just kinda freaked out…” 

Grover was spluttering, his eyes huge. “They were fighting?” 

“Nah,” Connor ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe Kayla was just—in the way. Her nose was broken. Annabeth had been really withdrawn for days, so clearly something was up…” 

Will shook his head. “Her nose wasn’t broken.” 

Percy realized they were all stealing glances at him. And that he’d distanced himself, and not spoken a word. He knew his face was closed off, dark; the way it went when he didn’t want anyone to know what he was feeling. 

He could practically hear them wondering how much of this he knew—and how much to say. 

“When did this happen?” Grover demanded. “I haven’t been away very long…” 

“Oh yeah, it was just a few days ago.” Will shrugged. “She left camp and no one has seen her since.” He glanced at Percy. “I was gonna ask you about it man, but never had the chance…” 

He and Connor had crept into the theater after the movie had started. 

Percy’s mind was spinning. He _knew_ Annabeth. She had a temper sometimes. She was a badass fighter. And she was never afraid of confrontation, or to stand up for herself. But _this…?_

“Is she doing okay?” Connor was addressing him directly. His voice was casual, like Percy would know the answer.

He thought of the text she hadn’t responded to, inviting her—admittedly last minute—to the movie. The phone call she hadn’t answered the night before. 

These were his friends. He could be honest with them—he _should_ be. But if he admitted the distance between him and Annabeth right now, it would lead to more truths. Like how she was probably freezing him out because of how withdrawn he’d become first. And why had he done that? This was why he couldn’t tell them—the answer was insurmountable. 

It wasn’t words so much as a feeling; a low, gutted hollow in the pit of himself. Pushing it away felt more and more like playing a game of whack-a-mole: every time you tried to make it disappear, it came right back up, taunting and multiplied. 

He felt himself shrug, hands deep in his pockets. The wind whipped through his hair as he looked away, down the street, anywhere else. Something in his face didn’t leave room for follow-up questions. 

The others were debating food options; he barely listened, but followed where they wanted to go. When his phone buzzed, he assumed, somehow, that it would be Annabeth, but it was just his mom checking in. Feeling a flicker of irritation, he switched over to the window with his girlfriend and wrote: _**Call me.**_

“Percy looks older. He should do it.” Connor was appraising him, head to toe, with a speculative eye. 

Startled, Percy took a step back. “What?” 

Will rolled his eyes. “He’s trying to figure out who could buy us beer. It’s been his project lately.” 

“Weren’t you listening at all?” Connor grinned. “Look at that chick in there; she’d do it for you.” 

Percy peered into the bodega before them. A fifty-some woman with pink highlights was manning the register. “Uh…” 

“Not her.” Connor redirected his gaze. _“Her.”_

A dark haired twenty-something in black workout clothes was reading the label on a box of pasta. There was already a bottle of wine in her hand. 

Percy looked at Connor. “You want me to ask her to buy you beer?” 

Connor shrugged. “Why not?” 

Will’s face was neutrally disapproving. “I mean, I don’t even drink. But I’m not going to stop you guys from doing what you want.” 

“I don’t either,” Grover said. “I mean, not usually.” He paused, then added, “And what do you mean, Percy looks oldest? _I’m_ the oldest!” 

Connor raised his hands. “Anyone who wants to go in and try it with our friend in there, be my guest. I’m just guessing that Jackson has the best chance, all right?” 

He glanced at Will. “And no one’s pressuring you to do anything you don’t want, man. I just thought it’d be something to do.” 

Will rolled his eyes. “It’s just a game to see if you can get it.” He looked at Percy and Grover. “He does this all the time now.” 

Percy looked again at the young woman in the store. She was bending to read a different label. He supposed he could go in there and _try it_ with her; it would be a stupid, wild, overwhelmingly teenaged thing to do. 

He thought of what he’d just learned about Annabeth, and how she hadn’t told him. He thought about his nightmares the night before, and his mother’s worried face, and the homework he hadn’t turned in. He thought of the movie they’d just seen, with the blood and death and the hero and the long, drawn out, mangled screams. 

He stepped forward and shouldered his way through the door.  
.  
.  
.  
Percy didn’t really drink. 

There was the time in eighth grade when he and Thalia had snuck the half bottle of bourbon his mother kept in the cupboard over the fridge, with the brilliant belief they could refill it with apple juice—“She doesn’t even _drink_ it, it was a gift,” Percy had explained. 

After a short-lived giddiness of laughing themselves stupid, then lying quietly on the grass and concrete outside Percy’s apartment building and speaking darkly of their fathers, the conversation had turned to Thalia’s mother and Percy’s ex-stepfather. Both had been lousy parental figures, and both had drank like it was all they were good for. 

Shortly after, they’d both been violently sick in the bushes and hadn’t even put the bottle back. They’d sworn never to tell Annabeth about it. And the next day, his mother had discovered the missing bottle, figured it all out, and cried. That was the worst part. Worrying his mother was always the worst part. 

There had been a couple other things since. Small, high school things. He hadn’t given it too much thought; most of the time he was busy with other things. Like saving the world. 

Sighing, he took another drink and looked out at the river below, feeling more relaxed than he had in ages. 

“Hey,” Grover nudged him. “Did you know about the Annabeth thing?” 

His voice was low. The other two were laughing about something that had happened at camp. They were sitting above the river, just concealed enough by shrubbery to not attract attention. 

Percy let out a long breath. “Nah. She didn’t tell me.” 

“But where’s she been, like, staying?” 

“I guess at her friend’s. Someone from school.” 

When Grover didn’t say anything else, Percy looked at him, hearing something in the silence. “What?” 

Grover scratched his ear. “Well, I dunno. I guess I’m just…worried about her?” He paused. “I mean, if she’s not talking to anyone—not even you—who’s she talking to? She’s been coming totally undone, lately.” 

Percy mulled that over. His head didn’t even feel fuzzy yet; just…mellowed. “She’s fine. We’ve all gotten expelled. And the people at that internship were complete assholes. They probably just didn’t want a teenager who was better than them.” 

Grover was shaking his head. His voice was serious. “Percy, it’s more than that. Why can’t you see it? _Annabeth_ doesn’t just get expelled, like it’s some offhand thing—not like you do. And there was more to that internship story, it was obvious. And—” he lowered his voice. “I heard something about…Olympus. A rumor. That things on her construction crew aren’t going…well.” 

“Yeah, I heard that too,” Connor suddenly piped up. Percy hadn’t realized that he and Will had started listening in. 

“Chiron knew something about it—so did some other head counselors. They were trying to figure it out. She was up there like, every day, and suddenly she was back, and wouldn’t talk to anyone. And Katie was on Olympus recently for some gardening gala; she said they’d stopped construction.” 

“And,” Will put in, “Chiron asked me about her. She didn’t show up for a counselor meeting, and he asked if I knew anything. I know Malcolm tried to talk to her, but he wouldn’t say much about it. And then the thing with Kayla happened…” 

Percy stared at the river. He could feel the water there; its murky depth, its pollution. He couldn’t believe, all the sudden, that they’d let it all get so polluted. He should go down there, do something. He swallowed, and felt the silt-y water in his throat. 

“…and of course no one blames her. I mean, even if they did, who cares right? It’s Annabeth. But she just cleared out. Oh, and you know what?” Will stopped. “Chiron asked about you, too.” 

Percy swallowed again against the closed-up feeling of murk in his throat. Finally, he looked at Will. “What’d he say?” 

“He just wanted to know if any of us had seen you lately. He wants you to come by. He’s been wanting that for a long time, actually.” 

Percy sighed. His phone went off in his pocket; again, it was his mother. This time she was calling. He stared at the screen for a long second; somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to answer when he had the scent of IPA on his breath. 

After the call died he checked his texts, just in case he’d missed a response from Annabeth. He hadn’t. 

Scowling, he shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Annabeth’s fine,” he said. “She just, I don’t know, needs some time—” 

“Percy,” Grover voice was serious, almost sharp. “She’s not fine. I think you should—” 

“Heeey!” The casual, enthused sound of Connor’s voice startled them both. He was dangling something back and forth in his hand—his cellphone. The screen was lit up. 

“We’re about to cut out all the guesswork, cause guess what?” He grinned impishly. “She’s coming!” 

“You—wait— _what?”_ Percy stared at him. “You texted Annabeth?” 

He glanced to the side, where a couple empty cans already sat. He hadn’t noticed until now. 

Connor flinched slightly at Percy’s tone. He spread his hands. “Look, ya’ll were going on about her, and I figured…let’s let her come and speak for herself.” The impish look returned. “Hey, we’re her friends! She needs us right now.” 

Right, and Connor was three beers in and shit-stirring, wanting a streak of liveliness, going out on a limb to see what would happen. 

“Dude, what, you actually did that?” Will made a grab for the phone, which Connor held out of reach. 

“Yeah, I mean we’re not hard to find—” 

“She _answered_ you?” Percy said it without meaning to. The silence of his own phone seemed to mock him from his pocket. 

“Yeah, okay, well…” Connor shrugged, grinning. “I _may_ have told her it was an emergency.” 

The other two started to react to this, but an unknown signal had turned Percy’s head the opposite way, almost of its own accord, off into the darkness—he hadn’t noticed it getting dark—like a silent beacon had called to him, some unknown but familiar identifier signaling through the space between them. 

Annabeth walked toward him, wearing a black hoodie that he thought might be his, but then didn’t recognize. Her curly hair was pulled back. And her face was serious, almost dimmed. Tired, he thought. She looked drained. 

She stopped a short distance away, taking them in. Before Percy knew it, he was on his feet. 

“This.” She seemed to see everything, every tiny detail. “This is your emergency?” 

“Annabeth!” Connor hooted triumphantly. “We found you.” 

He made to rise, but Will grabbed his sleeve and held him down. 

Annabeth came closer, and her gaze landed on Percy. He couldn’t immediately tell what she was thinking; there was too much in her deep, gray eyes. For a moment they were chaotic with dueling emotion, before seeming to land on accusation. 

“Hey…” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to forget the others behind him. He reached out to her, but she pulled her hand away. 

“Hey,” she replied, her voice sarcastic. Her eyes darted to his hands—empty—then to where he’d been sitting. “Have you been drinking?” 

He glanced behind him, heaving a sigh. “Yeah. One beer. That’s it, Annabeth.” 

She looked at him, and there was something new in her eyes—something wide and fragile and shiny. She swallowed hard, crossing her arms. 

His eyes narrowed, confused. “What?” 

“Why do you do that?” She whispered, hugging her arms tighter. “Why do you talk to me like I’m your nagging parent?” 

“I—what?” 

There was movement behind him, and suddenly the others were shuffling past. “We’re, uh, gonna go check if we can line up a taxi to get home,” Will said. “We’ll be over here!” 

And then it was just the two of them, alone in the dark under a pine tree, a few lights shining in off the riverside. 

Annabeth had turned away, so it was hard to see her face. For a long moment there was only silence. 

“Well, it’s nice to finally see you,” she said finally, her voice sour. 

Annoyance rose in Percy’s chest; he swallowed, trying to get a hold of it. “I texted you about tonight, Annabeth. I wanted you—” 

“Did you, though? Because it felt pretty half-assed, to me—” 

“And I called you last night—” 

“You are so full of shit, Percy!” She finally faced him, her voice rising. “You are _so full of shit._ You act like everything’s my fault, and you don’t own your own part in this—this—” She threw her hands up, apparently unable to find the words. Tears shone in her eyes. 

“I’m not acting like anything’s your fault!” He shot back, irritation seizing him. “You haven’t exactly been open with me, lately, have you?” 

He was too worked up to hear the contradiction in his own words. “They told me about camp, Annabeth. They told me about what happened with Kayla. What the hell is going on with you?” 

The climbing harshness in his voice broke, then. There was something loose and unsteady in his chest; he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. 

He watched the effect of his words—his tone—on Annabeth. Her lips parted, and then she was crying. 

“Shit.” Percy pressed his hands to the back of his head, blowing out a breath. “Shit, Annabeth. I’m sorry, okay?” He took another breath, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean that—” 

She pushed him away. “So you’re finally asking me—” she shook her head, looking away. “You haven’t cared—you haven’t paid attention—” 

“What?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think I don’t _care_ —that I don’t—?” 

“No, Percy.” She looked at him straight on, wiping her eyes. “You don’t fucking care. You don’t care about me, you don’t care about camp, you don’t care about going home at night.” She shook her head, fresh tears falling. “You don’t see what’s going on with me, and you avoid me, and then you’re out here doing who-knows-what with Connor Stoll—” 

“I’m not—” 

“And what am I supposed to think?” She lifted her hands to her hair, her voice rising, breaking. “Now what? Now we’re just supposed to fall apart, like Jason and Piper?” 

Percy sucked in a breath. His chest hitched. “No—Annabeth— _no—”_

Her hands tangled in her hair, and she wheeled away from him, turning toward the tree behind her. Before he could stop her, she’d kicked it hard. 

Alarmed, he grabbed her, pulling her away from the tree. “Annabeth, stop.” He tried to wheel her to face him. _“Annabeth.”_

But her crying was escalating, pitching upward, into something frenzied and disconnected, almost hysterical. 

“I don’t— _I don’t—I don’t—”_ she repeated, barely able to get the words out between breaths. _“I don’t—”_

He squeezed her shoulders, trying to get her to look at him. “You don’t what? Annabeth—it’s okay—” 

_“No, it is not okay!”_ She gasped, pushing away from him. And then, sobbing like her life was over, she began beating her fists against the tree, kicking it hard, over and over, as if there were something in it worth fighting; as if this solitary pine tree held the answers to life at its core, and with enough force, it would part and they would open to her. 

Percy grabbed her, his hands closing over her wrists, even as she fought him. Already there was blood on her fingers, sticky and fresh. He pulled her back, away from the tree and the river, letting her fight against him, letting her sob. 

The wild, unsteady thing in his chest was wilder by the second; loose, scattered. Something had gone horribly wrong somewhere; something along the way in this long track, this hero’s journey. This was supposed to be the after part, the relief, the life part. The golden remission. And yet there was something unquestionably broken in Annabeth falling to pieces in his arms, trying to hurt herself against a tree, spinning out of control, out of her own mind. In what his life had been, these past months. In how he’d been, inside and outside of his own mind. 

He drew a deep breath, feeling the hook of the ocean in his gut—the nearby river water responded, rising gently—like an anchor, a presence. He channeled all his strength into holding Annabeth steady. 

The fight was slowly leaving her. When he was content she wasn’t going to hurl herself against the tree again, he let her break away from him. 

Her breath was a ragged hitch, loud and rhythmic as she tried to slow her hysterics. She looked out over the water for a long time, at the distant golden lights, her hair hanging loose and twisted, reflecting all the light at him. 

“Why?” She whispered, her voice hoarse and faint between her hitched breathing. She turned to look right at him. “Why did you push me away?” 

Her gray eyes hooked him there, and Percy’s chest ached. It was too much to see her this way; too much to have her look at him this way. The wild thing in his chest circled dangerously, down and up and around, before hitting a wall and breaking like a rough crest of ocean in a squall. He swayed a little where he stood, and then pulled his hands roughly through his hair, still unable to break eye contact with her. He swallowed hard, his eyes damp, feeling the words pulled one by one up and out of his chest. 

“Because,” he whispered, his voice so quiet he didn’t know if she could hear. “Because I wanted you to be the good part.” 

A strange light broke in Annabeth’s eyes, and she stepped closer. “What?” 

_“Because,”_ Percy said again, louder, his voice hoarse. “I wanted you. To be. The good part.” 

She came closer. “Percy. What does that mean?” 

He spread his hands wide, his chest breaking open. “You’re supposed to be the _good_ part, Annabeth! The good part—of my life. After the quests—after the first war—after everything started to feel…bad—not fun anymore—you were always the good part. And now, more and more—” His voice broke. “Everything’s turning into the bad part—everything’s stupid and pointless and feels like shit, and I need that to be separate from you, I need my shit to be separate from you, because—you’re the best, the good—the _happy_ part of my life—” He drew a ragged, unsteady breath, rotating where he stood. “And I can’t lose that too. I can’t—I can’t lose—” He trailed off, feeling the wild thing in his chest burn itself out. “I need you to be the good part. You _are._ You _are_ the good part.” 

Annabeth’s mouth was open, staring at him. And then, before either of them quite knew who’d done it, she was back in his arms, her hands fisting in the back of his shirt, her face buried in his chest, his neck, desperate and quiet and hard and steady. And he was holding her tighter than he’d ever held her in his life; the moon was shining through the branches of the pine tree, bathing her hair in white light, and he put his lips there—she smelled of lemon and pencils and fresh air, of Annabeth—and her heart was wild and real, beating against his chest. Fresh tears soaked into his shirt, but she was quiet; she didn’t shake apart. She was solid and beautiful and real in his arms; the only real thing in the world. The only real thing that he knew. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. it's been a minute. not sure if anyone's still reading this story...if so I'd love to hear what you think. and a special thank you to my sister, codename Lord Archer, who encouraged me to keep writing <3


End file.
